Reflections on Governors Island

In this world full of mirrors
How clearly does one see themselves
Entertaining copious illusions,
Praying to find comfort by fostering absentmindedness

As clocks tick—
Seconds turning to hours,
Hours to years
Treading closer to ultimate demise
Oneself is a testament to the deaths that occur each moment

This endless search for innocence
In cloves of recollections
But when peering deeply
Reality is none were ever innocent

One can suppose,
Maturity is a shattering of illusions
Calling the soul to witness the horrors of itself
In crystal clear mirrors

Shattered Reflections

In the image of your reflection,

we’d find shattered mirror pieces —

glass poking out the frame’s tension.

Rushing to clear the mess I’d nicked my finger in.

Blood flowing on marble floors —

startled, dazed, a bit unsure.

Its presence ricocheting like a gunshot, point-blank;

dreams crumbling, jolting us all awake.

Throbbing pulsations remind me

of its existence —

lies shattering the world once created.

Beautiful illusions leading one to quietly wonder,

“What was real? What was fake?”

Did I mistrust my judgment?

Was my intuition offline?

Yes — I’m God’s child, emboldened with the divine —

yet divinity became stripped bare in deceit;

half-truths, manipulations, and betrayal all meet.

Cowardice is one’s own personal hell.

Frozen in time and space, inaction becomes a choice itself.

Small internal voices whisper, “What’s wrong with me?”

Shame becoming an insidious, contagious disease.

In the fractal pieces, we witness a thousand reflections —

one face here, another there — infinite ways of deception.

Mirrors culminating truth that can hardly hide,

showing the fragility of the Self inside.

Time passes,

and the finger generates skin cells to mend

all the pieces the mirror tried to end,

scars remaining as a lesson of the horrors when

lies become the identity we live in.

Making Sense of “Distractions”

Distractions…Distractions…

A thousand thoughts in my mind and I can’t pick one of them. If I’d just allow myself to rest, to take the time to unfurl the clenched fists that bleeds onto white sheets and stains its coat with a deep red brilliance, maybe I’d learn that my ego loves the color its left with. I wonder why at times I don’t allow myself time to rest before venturing onto a new task? My mind confounded with new ideas, different revelations, more things to learn, worlds to explore—its intoxicating, exciting, humbling, overwhelming, tiring and then finally…a distraction.

Distractions feel so beautiful sometimes. They feel like an absorption of complete attention; I’m consumed by the story of another. I wish to be consumed by that which I am distracted by. Whether than is another person, a good book, a beautiful fragrance, the songs my plants sing to me or a reflective piece of art—I’m looking to be immersed in its presence until it absolves my own.

And I wonder about that. I wonder what it is about the feeling of being absorbed, being selfless in the presence of distractions that a part of me craves? My teacher beckons me to reflect on the ways that I use some of my spiritual energy and natural intuitive processes to be absorbed into another, to merge with them completely and in the process lose myself. Maybe that’s why sex feels like a holy space of connection as opposed to release. A tension that allows for me to break free from performance and be immersed in my body, in the moment, completely merged with another as he loses himself inside of me again and again. Wondering where I end, and he begins—who knows and who cares as we crash into each other until one of us has had enough.

And in the aftermath, there’s more merging. Now we get to reflect on the experience as we hold each other in our arms. My heart longs for the ability to touch another’s, to listen to a similar rhythmic beat and create our own vibrational tune. To be in love, to be present to another yet distracted from myself.

Maybe it’s my lesson right now to learn what it means to be present in these “distractions”. Instead of losing “me” what if I claim myself in the midst of each moment. What if I witness my thoughts and observe them as they pass through? What if I watch myself choose to learn new things, listen to different music, venture through new worlds? What if I watch as I become absorbed with the “distraction”, losing track of the small “me” but opening to the me that is always deeply connected to all that is. What if I learn to use this merging as a way of merging with The One?

Distractions aren’t all bad. Sometimes they are beautiful, wonderful, exciting, thought provoking, erotic and damn-right fun. But what if I didn’t need distractions to distance myself from that egoic self? What if I could mindfully merge while observing each moment in a space of presence instead of loss of self. And what if I learned how to stand as fully present with the larger “Self”?

Does it even exist? It must..or how could I think of it? Could I even do it? I must…or why am I asking it? Is it so difficult? Perhaps…but struggle is often worth it. And I’m tired of leaving pieces of myself behind to merge with smaller ones when I know I’m in search of something bigger, something all encompassing, the Oneness I prayed to merge into.

Distractions are distractions…but distractions might be the thing that leads me back home.

Into remembrance.

A Season of Change

Lately I’ve been feeling the energy of endings coursing through my body, racing through my veins up until it reaches my tear ducts, dripping slowly to land on the corners of my lips. I taste its bittersweet saltiness as I swallow deeply and allow for it to make its passage once again. I can’t refute the fact that change is often painful as life sucker punches us with it over and over again. Yet, somehow this current change in my life doesn’t feel quite like a sucker punch. Instead, it is the gentlest, most wistful kiss.

I’m amazed to realize that much of my endings do not have to derive from deep pain and betrayal. They can instead arrive in a package that perches itself on my doorstep, a nicely wrapped bow beckoning me to wonder what its contents is. It can be a phone call that says “yes, you got the job” or a letter that reads “Congratulations! You’ve been admitted into ___”. Or even soft lips that whisper “I’ll always love you” as they kiss you goodbye.

Endings are never easy. For me each ending requires a moment of deep surrender to what was and a trust in what will be. These days that are arriving require much faith, so I place my forehead on the ground and ask for strength. I ask for God to enlighten me with softness in moments where I’d thought I wouldn’t have any and to lead me on a path that I can’t even see clearly. Yet, I know, I feel that this is destiny.

As things end, I usually take the time to look around and take stock. What are the things that I have created with my hands; what are those things I’ve unwittingly destroyed? Were my words too harsh, too passive or timed just right? Did I extend forgiveness in moments where I was a little less than perfect and simply just human? Trying to reason my way through moments where I’ve felt too much because it felt too painful to feel. Have I run away from my own reflection in the hopes of drowning myself in anothers—only to find those eyes reflecting my image once again? And this time will I sit quietly with myself? These are questions that I ask when the ending arrives, and we are left with the fruits of the seeds we’ve sown.

Though endings can be heart-wrenching, honestly all that I witness is love. I see love in the fearful gaze of another as they attempt to hide what is on their mind and shield the fragility of their heart. “I make you feel so naked, don’t I” a question frequently repeated in my mind’s eye. Well, my love, my heart is sewn right onto my sleeve—believe me I feel naked too. Endings always make me feel naked, bringing me right back to my natural self, my child self; unsure and twisting my hands at what I’ve wrought, wondering if I could’ve been anything more than human. But even in that space of remorse, grief and longing, I turn to look in the reflection of my own gaze and still find love.

Love is the thing that makes a fool of us all. And saves us all in the same instance. Love is the thing that makes each moment of laughter, joy, pain, heartbreak worth it—love as a never-ending source of life. Its love that whispers “this door needs to close so that another can be opened”. Its love that rocks me gently as I cling to the past in the hopes that it’ll never reject or abandon me. Its love that wipes my tears, holds my face gently and gazes at me with a knowing that it remains present even when my mind is convinced that it’s going. It’s love that allows for me to pick my head up, look at that closed door and bow in complete and utter reverence. It’s the surrender that makes me revere loves presence. A divine surrender so spiritual my mind cannot conceive of it. It is only my heart that falls into a stupor, drunk with it. Love coursing so deeply within me carrying me to the new door that awaits with hope, inspiration and faith. Love that whispers, “are you ready? You got this, let’s open it together” leading me into a new energy. Love, that awaits on the other side with open arms, accepting, transformative and eternally present. Love that whispers “endings are an illusion that brings you back into presence helping you to realize; I’ve always been here. I have always been the ultimate reality. This is the ultimate truth.”

Love as a space of remembrance, continuously bringing me right back home.

So with love, I thank you for your presence. I thank you for your lessons. I thank you for bringing me back to remembrance.

A heart filled with love.

Xx Heaven

An Ode to Self-Love

Multilayered
Complex
Hauntingly beautiful
Full of grace
If only one could capture,
Secure it
Hide it in plain sight
Or perhaps lock away in a dungeon
I hid her away for ages
Fearful of desecration
Resenting the worlds brutality
In truth, she deserves all of the roses
Molten-led whispers along her spine
Sweet kisses, foot massages
Divinity in the arch of every limb
Basking in her sublime time
As fine as well-aged wine
Sipping from her lips, I find my peace
Oh, this deeply-rooted woman
Her cries are my anguish
Her heart my salve
Peaking into the heavens I capture her grace
Teasing her light, balancing unconditional rapture on slick fingertips
Then shoving fingertips down her throat
She bursts into a symphony of luminous rays
When they saw black and white
She saw the world in color
A special woman, the feminine, the anima,
Yin
The Great Mother
Heaven!
The root, so deeply rooted
Attempting to siphon her light—she forever remains luminous
She brings weakness to my knees;
Clearing my minds eye
Easing my soul
The embodiment of heaven—
Love without the illusion of control